


clutter (oh god isn't that time-consuming)

by graveyardorgarden



Category: True Detective
Genre: 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:30:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3875626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graveyardorgarden/pseuds/graveyardorgarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>rustin cohle reenters his life and all of a sudden it’s filled with clutter</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	clutter (oh god isn't that time-consuming)

**Author's Note:**

> If I keep writing things during these late night kicks of creativity I get occasionally, and if I keep publishing what I write I won't be able to use "writing fanfiction is a new area to me" as an excuse for much longer. Oh well, I guess it's still okay this time? Also English is my second language and yada yada yada, you know the drill. Thank you for reading!

i.  rustin cohle reenters his life and all of a sudden it’s filled with clutter. the walls of his office wallpapered with pictures and documents, case files piled up on his bedside table, empty cigarette packets crumbled into balls and left in his car. the countertop in his kitchen holds finished beer cans, the kitchenette in the office flooded with empty take out containers. there’s no time to think about throwing things out or vacuuming his bedroom on sunday afternoons. rustin cohle has reentered his life and oh god isn’t that time-consuming?  


ii.  carcosa happens and he finds himself in clutter turned up to ten, a house filled with things that shouldn’t be kept - has he ever seen this many newspapers stacked on top of each other before? probably not - finds himself next to a pile of things that no one should collect, children’s shoes in different sizes, models, colours. he finds his friend bleeding and _stay with me rust_ and his mind is filled with clutter but of another kind, memories and fears and what ifs but _keep fucking focused_ and then finally there’s the sound of sirens, the sight of flashlights coming trough the tunnels.  


iii.  rustin cohle is asleep in his bed and he’s not sure what to do. feels like a stranger in his own house, like sometime in high school when a girl told him to wait in her living room while she got changed, not being sure if he could touch anything or if it was okay to sit down on the sofa. now he’s not sure if the tv will wake the other man up or if the other man will ever wake up again. he is pretty sure that this time the other person won’t come down the stairs in a denim skirt and sticky, pink lipgloss though.  


iv.   _do you want anything?_ but rust’s answer is no, short and sour, _how are you feeling? think you might need to drink somethin’._ once more it’s no and he can feel anger rising in his throat, has to get out of the bedroom and take some deep breaths, contemplate wether to call the hospital and ask for advice, or maggie, or just leave it be but by then the image of his friend no longer breathing and already starting to decay in his bed flashes past his eyelids and _breathe in breathe out count to ten_ he has to tell himself before going back into the bedroom. _hell rust, we’ll have a lot of things to work out later but right now i think that drinking a glass of water and trying to communicate with me would do pretty you good okay?_ his voice is soft, less angry than he thought it would be.  


v.  the next two weeks fly by, he’s busy picking rust’s prescriptions up, busy making rust toast in the mornings, busy listening to rust complain about what’s on tv, busy helping rust wash his hair ( _i don’t care what you say, you’re not ripping your stitches out and bleeding to death in my bathtub_ ) or get into a clean pair of sweatpants, busy letting rust lean on him to get from the sofa to the lawn chair on the back porch, busy getting lost in the back of the library struggling to find at least one of the books on the list rust has written him, busy checking that rust is still breathing at least twice every night, busy finally driving rust back to the hospital to get the stitches out, after two days being busy convincing him that taking them out with kitchen knifes under the fluorescent light in the bathroom is **not** a good idea.  


vi.  oh god isn’t that time-consuming and oh god when was the last time he slept for more than four hours straight but oh god isn’t he happy to see locks of graying hair spread out on his pillow when he peeks in through the bedroom door, oh god isn’t he happy to see steel-blue peek out from under tired eyelids, oh god isn’t he happy when the smell of smoke hits him as he opens his front door, oh god isn’t he happy that rustin fucking cohle has reentered his life because now in retrospect he can almost feel how all that damned loneliness, the days at the office when there was no clients around, the lonely tv dinners, the nights staring at the phone wishing that _tonight might be the night one of them decide it’s time to call their dad_  had put him on the verge of dissolving, slowly fading away into nothing. 


End file.
